Loser Of The Year: Paul Crouch

Hurricane Isadore will be making it’s way nearby soon, by tomorrow morning they say. We’re supposed to get some of it later this evening, the weather sources I get here at the station are implying that we’re going to get close to a full inch or two in heavy downpours and very strong (dare I say “gusty”) winds. We shall have to see - to my riding group for this evening, keep a close eye on the weather with me and we’ll make a decision on biking later this afternoon. I cannot aford to be sick right now, and with my sinuses going haywire everyday I’m pushing my luck. If I have no voice, I cannot work, ya dig?

Paige wanted me to call her yesterday after I’d given her some time to rest, she said she hadn’t gotten much sleep in the previous 3 days. Paige sleeps more than any grizzly in hibernation, so I was skeptical of that. To say nothing of the fact that I’m not the one trying to repair a friendship. I didn’t call her. I have no intentions of calling her. If it’s important enough to her, she’ll do the work to prove that and make it happen.

John emailed me and while I’m a little less angry with him, he also has to work on proving to me that he’s sincere about mending his wrongs and setting things right by time and action. I’m dealing with two people I’m holding at arms length, and for the time being that’s just the way it’s going to have to be. I have my own stuff to sort out that is completely independent of anyone else’s drama, and I have a responsibility to myself and those I love to focus on myself first.

Damien is sometimes the funniest person I know - he’s also corny as hell sometimes. We were laying on my bed talking last night and I was explaining to him something to the effect of how when you’re talking to someone and clearly they’re not interested in paying attention to you - and he starts yawning! It was hilarious. That was like when I was trying to explain why I enjoyed Latino/Hispanic culture, because the people were passionate and I couldn’t stand apathy and apathetic people - and he looks at me dead in the face and with no expression whatsoever says to me “…baby, I don’t care…” I still crack up over that one.

Cole was playing with Maggie the other night and he was laying across her lap and then jumped up. She said to him, rather creeped out, “Did you just lick me?” Without even thinking too much about it he goes “No, I drooled.” Later she made the comment to him that if he didn’t settle down she was going to beat his ass. He fell over backwards onto the floor laughing at her, this genuinely amused him. He totally called her out on it too - “Oh no yoye not!” So of course, I burst out laughing as well. Damien looked at me with that astonished “Oh no he didn’t!” stare before laughing himself. That kid, I swear - he just slays me sometimes.

I love that Joan Jett is playing live shows for troops in Kandahar and then going on to Baghram in Afghanistan! Every Afghani man’s nightmare - a woman in leather and heavy make-up with a guitar… and a big ol’ dyke to boot!

Many months ago, I made this list and people went nuts over it. Here it is again, reprinted in its entirety. I present to you:

Fuck the tree that killed the best part of Sonny & Cher.

Fuck men that legitimize the beating and raping of women with stupid statements like “The bitch had it coming”.

Fuck people who discriminate based on weight.

Fuck the Middle East for fighting over a piece of land that no one has a FUCKING DEED TO.

Fuck this intangible, child murdering, virgin raping, deadbeat father sky fairy that people base their entire lives on because someone else decided the lie was legitimate, and fuck that dead Jew on a stick he has for a son.

Fuck any preacher who drives an expensive car.

Fuck the Spice Girls.

Fuck the Pope for breathing.

Fuck homophobes for having an opinion.

Fuck Enron for their greed.

Fuck people who bring young children into movie theaters - Hello, if you cannot find a babysitter, stay the fuck at home.

Fuck anyone at the front door who interrupts my busy conversion of oxygen to carbon dioxide to tell me about Jesus OR Jehovah.

Fuck me.

Fuck people who drink and drive.

Fuck stupid people, it’s a damned shame that stupidity isn’t painful.

Fuck people who bitch in baseless assertions.

Fuck your image.

Fuck computers that call your house and have the gall to put you on hold.

Fuck all of the people connected with daytime television.

Fuck the cowardly.

Fuck Shakira, if for no other reason than for copycatting Christina Skankilera - is there a lower depth of misery?

Fuck being sad and depressed and lonely and angry and having no outlet for frustration.

Fuck money for never being enough.

Fuck Liam Gallagher. Your father should have pulled out early.

Fuck pretention.

Fuck not taking a stand for something and not getting REAL loud now and then.

Fuck the spineless.

Fuck people who say “I Can’t” instead of “I Won’t”.

Fuck anyone who makes fun of handicapped, overweight, mentally challenged, or otherwise disenfranchised people.

Fuck Fundamentalism.

Fuck being horny and not having a partner to have wild, nasty, hot monkey sex with.

Fuck the academy.

Fuck your ego.

Fuck melodrama.

Fuck Eiffel 65.

Fuck Jeff Buckley for going swimming in the Mississippi River.

Fuck people who steal the innocence from children.

Fuck anyone who harms animals, and fuck PETA. Cows, fish, and chicken are not animals - they’re food. Fuck off and eat some organic granola with soy milk, you fucking hippie bastards.

Fuck Raspberry Pop Tarts for being packed full of yummy goodness.

Fuck people who start shit and then back off to watch it all go down.

Fuck all of you backstabbing bitches.

Fuck ths bullshit that you think is so important, NEWSFLASH!… It’s just not.

Fuck people who can’t take the hint.

Fuck people who are unkind to service personnel, especially in the foodservice industry.

Fuck being a victim.

Fuck people who get paid even though they don’t earn their fucking jobs.

Fuck censorship.

Fuck guys in their 40’s who divorced perfectly wonderful women to go off and pay some nobrain slut to pay them attention and appear as though they REALLY like them, and drive a Corvette. Nice car, sorry about your penis.

Fuck people who name children after alcohol brand names and cars.

Fuck yippee little dogs that can fit into a handbag and the sad bitches that own them.

MOTHERFUCK Mariah Carey.

Fuck Televangelism.

Fjuck Norwegian people.

Fuck parents who let televisions raise their children.

Fuck Jerry Springer - how stupid do you have to be to get elected Mayor and lose your job because you paid a hooker with a goddamned CHECK?!??!?!?!?

Fuck anyone who needs drugs to make them interesting. Life is tragic enough without an altered state of mind.

Fuck Ticketmaster.

Fuck Rush Limbaugh.

Fuck Abercrombie & Fitch, you lose IQ points wearing those clothes.

Fuck the Male dominated Pro-Life Movement. Tell you what, GUYS - next time YOU get cramps, I will personally buy the Midol. Man, do I HA
TE a stupid motherfucker. You make me ashamed of my own gender.

Fuck the Easy Way Out.

Fuck fashionable Buddhism.

Fuck Tommy Hilfiger.

Fuck Miss Cleo - betcha didn’t see THAT coming, did ya Mommy?

Fuck Martha Stewart for needing to GET fucked. Fold all the napkins you want, you’re still just a skank from Jersey with flat hair.

Fuck anyone who was connected with the movies “How High” and “Kung Pow”, and anyone stupid enough to pay money to see that bullshit. Your complete lack of sensible taste and practicality merits the death penalty. Be glad I’M not in charge. Yet.

Fuck the Adoption Industry for failing children everywhere and being a disservice to approximately 65% of would-be parents.

Fuck the Amish.

Fuck Mick Jagger.

Fuck women who enable these assholes in epidemic proportions.

Fuck being a doormat.

Fuck not asking for what you want. How will you ever GET anything? All they can do is say “No”, in which case the appropriate response is “Alright then, Fuck You!”

Fuck the Klan.

Fuck pro sports.

Fuck pseudo intellectuals.

Fuck thinking being in the military legitimizes you being an asshole.

Fuck being inconsistent.

Fuck Virginia, I ain’t meeting the bitch.

Fuck loving your parents and liking them at the same time. Earn it, no one gets a free lunch - you said so yourself.

Fuck the Seminary.

Fuck Beyonce Knowles.

Fuck White Trash and White Power. Wait a minute, that’s a mighty fine line.

Fuck being ashamed.

Fuck belittling some to make yourself feel better. If that applies to you, you are LESS than nothing.

Fuck insomnia.

Fuck the “Club Lifestyle”.

Fuck whoever knows the cure and isn’t saying.

This is interesting. I found this out last night before going on the bike ride. I feel I must….. share it with you…..

I read John (’s journal entry where he stated he’d taken some people off of his friends list. On a whim, I happened to be looking at my “Friend Of” list last night, and, LO AND BEHOLD, guess who wasn’t there?

D I N G D I N G D I N G D I N G D I N G D I N G!!!!!

, the random yahoo formerly known as a friend of ’s - that was, until he publically declared me unworthy and of no good to him. After all, what am I? It’s not like I spent all kinds of time trying to help him be a better person and pick him up when he’d fallen down… It’s not like I went out of my way to defend his bullshit to other people in the hopes that they would cut him some slack… It’s not like I ever ::gasp:: confronted him with the truth about himself or anything nutty like that now, is it?

Tell you what, John… Believe in God long enough for your sorry ass to pray to him that you never need me for anything. Then again, that shouldn’t happen as clearly you have other friends who are more than willing to put up with your sorry, lazy, self-indulgent, freeloading ass.

You’ve proven yourself to me finally, and nothing you could do will fix this. And with that, I’m done.

I’ve just finished reading Dream Brother ~ The Lives And Music Of Jeff & Tim Buckley.

I’m relatively wordless for the experience, save to say that I eel a profound sense of loss and sadness. Any and every fan of Jeff Buckley should read this book.

Conversely, I’m going to make copies of Grace and other works by him to give to Jennifer when I see her next month. I’ve told her about my obsession with his music, and promised her I would make her copies and write down lyrics of his songs. I think that she would relate well to his music, if not to cover herself then to enjoy on it’s own. I’m making duplicates for Wes and Scott, and Brad. They are all fanatics of music and I know that their exposure to his music is limited at best - if in fact they have heard any of it at all. Scott told me several months ago that he’d heard of him, but no actually experienced the music for himself.

I feel now a bigger sense of urgency towards Jennifer recording a live album soon, I told her as much after our last dinner together before a show here at the beginning of the summer. The new CD Rewind does a great job of conveying how the older songs are now interpreted live, but there isn’t the same sense of spontaneous energy with it as with live shows - which is to be expected.

I remember the first time I had heard about her writing this new love song, something she’d never attempted before. We were sitting on the deck behind the Tap, just the two of us, having a drink and playing catch-up. It was just after the split with Cory, and we had planned on this time for her to explain everything that had happened when she told him to the events that led up to it. We talked at length about all of that drama, and then I asked her about this new “love song” I’d heard rumors about. She gave me that coy smile and said “It’s called ‘The Story Of Your Bones’.” She explained a bit of the song to me, and asked me not to look her in theface and make eye contact with her when she sang it later, as she was sure she’d break into tears and that was not conducive to singing. I agreed to stare at her feet during that song. When she started it later that evening, she motioned down front for Maggie and I to not look directly in her face and I complied. She then began singing with Scott’s piano and I stood there at the foot of the stage and bawled for the duration of the song. I knew what every word meant, having the friend’s privilege of knowing her life stories that inspired the lyrics. A month before the album Story Of Your Bones was released, they played it for me. Jenn hugged and kissed me and told me she wanted me to hear it. I’m still not the same as I was before that.

The first time she ever played What You Signed Up For live, it was at the Tap in Columbus. I was standing with her former manager Tom when she started talking about this new song she had written. Coach began that pounding, throbbing drum intro and she relaxed her posture and said to the audience packed into the courtyard, “Do you ever feel like like just throwing up your hands and saying ‘Fuck It, I quit!’?” Astonished, as she had made no mention to me of a new song, she looked out into the crowd and saw me there with my mouth hanging wide open and smiled at me and then stuck her tongue out. I asked Tom “What’s this all about?” His reply came to me as equally shocked when he answered, “I have NO idea - I’ve never heard this!” (Who knew then that she would later write “Shift” with him in mind). It is moments like these as a friend that I hold so dearly, and I have six years worth of them - which leaves me feeling more honored than you could know.